“I do not wish to have you do that again!” she protested sharply.
He was now naked to the waist. “It is not what you wish, Lady Blair, but what I desire!”
Enid glanced away from him and noticed a crystal wine decanter and several goblets placed near one edge of the bench. She looked at Esmond again and murmured, “Very well, if you must. But may I prepare myself first with some wine?”
“Why not?” he said, his voice unsteady with mounting passion.
She smiled. “And will you join me?”
“Bring me a glass,” he ordered. “And then we shall engage in the most delightful business of the bed!”
Enid approached the bench, her heart pounding fiercely as the fingers of her right hand fumbled with the locket at her neck. She managed to extricate the blue packet of lethal powder, and then, bending over to pour the wine, squeezed the tiny grains into one of the glasses. She had only a matter of seconds to accomplish this, and she prayed that the waiting Esmond had not noticed what she had done.
The blue packet was still crumpled in the palm of her right hand, but she concealed it by the way she held the wine goblet. She walked slowly across the room to the head of the French secret service and handed him the glass of wine into which she had emptied the poison. She was relieved to see that all traces of it had vanished in the ruby liquid.
He took the glass from her and touched hers with it. “To our union. May it not be a final one.”
She watched him nervously and hoped she would not betray her fear. “Isn’t that up to you?” she replied in an attempt at coyness.
“No, Lady Blair,” he said firmly. “It is up to you and your memory!”
“I see.” She sipped some of her wine and waited for him to do the same.
The glass of wine remained untouched in his hand. “We would make a perfect couple,” he mused. “Give me the information I need, and my place on the Council will be assured. And you will be my consort!”
“Aren’t you going to drink to us?” she asked softly.
He favored her with a grim smile. “I hope your lovely head will still grace your equally lovely shoulders this time tomorrow!”
He lifted the goblet to his lips and downed the wine. Then he tossed the glass aside, to splinter on the hardwood floor. “Come!” he urged, and none too gently led Enid to the bed in which the Dauphin had slept.
She could not speak, could only stand transfixed as Esmond slowly unbuttoned her dress and slipped it from her shoulders. Then he stripped her of her undergarments and leaned forward to flick his tongue lightly over her bared nipples. He straightened up and was about to remove his breeches when a strange expression crossed his face.
He stared at her in perplexity, then put a hand to his throat. He tried to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Brushing roughly by her, he staggered to the opposite wall and clutched at it—to stop himself from swaying wildly to and fro.
Enid had not moved a muscle nor said a word. She could only gaze at him with a mounting repulsion mixed with horror.
Esmond turned to her as a choking sound welled up deep in his throat. In the next moment he had slumped to the floor, inert and lifeless.
Enid stood there shivering, the feel of his wet tongue still on her nipples. She feared she would be ill. She turned rigidly away and moved toward the bench as if in a trance, then lifted the decanter to her lips and took several huge swallows of wine.
The liquid burned its way down her throat and gradually revived her. She picked up her clothes, and keeping her eyes averted from the dead man, dressed as hastily as she could. Then she made several frantic attempts to locate the knob that would move the panel. At last she found it, and the panel slid open as it had before. Warily she entered the library, thinking that somehow she had to get to the cellar. From down there she could find the tunnel that would bring her outside to the burial ground.
Desperation gave Enid the courage to try a brave ploy. She opened the library door, and looking back over her shoulder and smiling, she said loudly, “Thank you, Louis. I shall return when you have finished your work.”
The guard in the corridor stood impassively as Enid conducted her imaginary conversation. Then, very coolly, she shut the door after her and walked by the soldier at a leisurely pace. She did not quicken her steps until she was around the corner and out of sight. Then she shot down another corridor to the stairs leading to the attic.
Once she was alone in the protective darkness, she found her way to the hidden winding staircase and then to the tunnel. She was on her hands and knees, crawling along the passage, when all at once she heard something that struck her with terror.
Ahead of her came the sounds of someone moving straight toward her. Nothing could prevent their meeting, except her turning back, and Enid did not dare do that. She hesitated, staring into the dark shadows from which the sounds emanated and not knowing what to do.
Her panic mounted to a near-breaking point as the cloaked figure reached within a foot or two of her. And then she heard Armand’s deep voice mutter tensely, “Whoever you are, my pistol covers you!”
“Armand!” she gasped.
“Enid, is that you?” His tone was incredulous.
“Yes!”
“I was coming to try to rescue you.”
“I’ve only just managed to escape.”
“I’ll go back and you follow me,” he said tautly.
They made their way along the tunnel. When they reached the mausoleum area, he helped her to her feet and they scrambled out into the open. Enid noticed that darkness had fallen. Neither she nor Armand attempted to speak until they were well away from the cemetery.
Armand explained, “When I returned a few hours ago, Renaud told me you had been taken away. I decided at once to go in search of you.”
“I didn’t know whether help would come or not,” she said, trembling now.
He pulled her closer to him. “Tell me what happened after the police took you.”
She related the events quickly, adding in a choked voice, “The poison worked! He died before my eyes!”
“He deserved an even worse fate,” Armand grunted. “He was a monster. A mass murderer.”
“I know. And the strangest part of it is that he didn’t even have the Dauphin. The boy was somehow removed from the secret room where Esmond had held him prisoner. It happened the night you rescued me. Esmond was positive I knew all about it.”
“We must assume, in that case, that Father Braun has the prince.”
“That doesn’t seem to fit, but perhaps you are right. I hope so. Then we can all leave for London as soon as possible.”
After skirting the main streets and sticking to secluded alleyways, they crossed the river and reached the house a few minutes later. Kemble, Gustav, and Renaud kissed her, and there was much rejoicing. Everyone was relieved to see her returned safely.
When the excitement of her arrival had died down, Enid asked, “What about Father Braun and the boy?”
There was an uneasy silence from the three men as both she and Armand waited for a reply. Then Armand demanded, “Well, tell us!”
Gustav looked embarrassed. “I got here just shortly before you did. I fear I brought some bad news.”
“Bad news?” Enid repeated.
“Is the Dauphin dead?” Armand suggested.
“Was Father Braun captured and guillotined?” Enid wondered.
Kemble looked grim. “Nothing like that!”
“What, then?” Armand prodded impatiently.
“You tell them.” Kemble addressed himself to Gustav. “It is your bit of news.”
Gustav exchanged a glance with Renaud, who looked equally glum, and then he cleared his throat nervously. “It appears we’ve been outmatched.”
“The French have the Dauphin again?” Enid ventured.
“No,” Gustav said. “As a matter of fact, the Austrians have him. They took him over the border two days ago.”
“What of Father Braun?” Enid cried. “Did the Austrians murder him to get the boy?”
“No,” Gustav said, and seemed unwilling to go on.
It was Kemble who picked up the account with a touch of scathing sarcasm. “We were hoodwinked, dear Enid.”
“Hoodwinked?” she echoed blankly.
“By the good Father Braun. It is now known that he was a double agent, his first loyalty being to Austria. They have the Dauphin now and will use him when the time is ripe.”
“What will Sir Harry say?” she wondered.
“Very little, I should expect,” Kemble told her, “since he is the one who decided Father Braun would head his network over here.”
Renaud shook his head. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Well, one thing is certain,” Armand put in with a smile. “You no longer need to remain in France. The mission is over.”
“Heaven be thanked for that!” Kemble sighed. “And at least I have a new translation for a play out of it!”
“We shall never be listed as heroes in the history books,” Enid said plaintively. “The priest has stolen our niche.”
Kemble shrugged. “I care little as long as my name graces the placards for Drury Lane in the present. Let the future take care of itself.”
“Well said.” Armand clapped him on the shoulder. “I shall make arrangements with the network for us to sail from Calais the day after tomorrow.”
Renaud stared at them despondently. “So it is over and we have failed. You will all be leaving. And I have nothing to look forward to but to carry on here and wait for the guillotine to catch up with me!”
Kemble went over to him, slapped him heartily on the back, and declared in a magnanimous tone, “Not so, old chum! We have been through too many dangers together. I have been watching you closely, and I see in you the makings of an excellent property man. You will return to England with us and work for me at Drury Lane!”
“Providing Mrs. Siddons hasn’t lost the theater for you!” Enid reminded him.
“Did you have to mention that?” Kemble grumbled.
The group burst into laughter at the actor’s expression, and Kemble had the grace to enjoy the merriment of his friends at his own expense.
On a foggy morning two days later the five of them were rowed from the Calais shore to the waiting vessel that would bring them to the security of England.
After they were safely on board, Armand stood by the bow with his arm around Enid and stared through the mist at his beloved homeland.
“My poor France!” he murmured. “What will happen to her?”
“Many things, I fear; none of them good,” she said. “Let us be thankful to be leaving together.”
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “We must be thankful.”
The journey across the Channel was tiring but uneventful. In London everything appeared much the same. Despite Kemble’s fears, his sister had operated extremely successfully during his absence. In any case, he was more than happy to be able to take over the reins of Drury Lane again.
Armand and Enid were privileged to witness the joyful reunion between Gustav and Susie at Kemble’s flat. The small actress threw her arms about her husband and sobbed, “I was never so happy as now!”
Kemble, who was also watching them, remarked, “May Heaven spare us from your sorrow!” And with that he proceeded to embrace his own smiling Jenny.
A message was waiting for Enid from her father. He asked her to come down to the country at the earliest moment. There was a tone about the brief note that worried her.
She told Armand, “We shall go down together as soon as Kemble and I have reported to Sir Harry.”
“Do you think your parents will welcome me again?” Armand asked.
“Of course they will,” she assured him. “They liked you on your last visit.”
“There is still your husband to consider.”
“That may be what my father wants to see me about.”
Susie told Enid about a vacant flat across the street from Kemble. The fist thing Enid did was to inspect the furnished premises, and finding them to her liking, she rented the rooms for herself and Armand.
Kemble rushed off to the theater, taking Renaud with him, since he had promised to introduce the Frenchman to his new duties immediately. It was a day crowded with events, this first day on British soil in many long weeks.
That evening Mrs. Siddons was giving her closing performance as Constance in
King John.
She invited her brother and all his friends to sit in special boxes and join the cast for a party onstage following the final curtain. So Enid found herself once more attending a gala theatrical feast, and this time she had the pleasure of Armand’s presence at her side.
Mrs. Siddons gave a fine tragic performance as Constance, and everyone stood to applaud her at the end of the play.
“Penny pincher she may be, but she is my sister and a woman of talent!” Kemble observed.
Then they went backstage to congratulate the players. The banquet table was set up onstage, and soon much food was consumed and many toasts were offered.
During the party Kemble took Enid aside. “I just had a message from Sir Harry. We are to be in his office at ten in the morning.”
“I’ll be glad to get it over with,” she said. “I’m most anxious to go to Surrey and see my parents.”
“Well, I expect we cannot avoid the meeting and a stern reprimand.” He sighed deeply. “Despite all our high hopes, things went awry.”
“It wasn’t entirely our fault, remember.”
“True.” Kemble glanced around him. “It is difficult not to be happy on a night like this. I plan to do my translation of the Molière comedy very soon.”
“I’m glad you were kind enough to employ Renaud.”
The actor smiled. “You do approve of me at times.”
“You are probably my best friend.”
His eyes twinkled. “And Armand is your true love!”
“Does that matter?”
“Not any more. My coming back to Jenny has made me more aware of her good qualities. And Susie says she has made some progress in coaching her stage work. I think Jenny and I will do very well.”
“I knew that from the start,” Enid laughed. “She is the nice, placid sort you need for balance.”
“And you are not?”
“Never!”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “We’ve been through a lot together, I must say. And to think that Esmond attended the last party we had on this stage!”